


Reversion

by I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning



Series: Undead Chosen One [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Crucifixion-Like Elements, Electrocution, Gen, Graphic Torture, Non-Consensual Blood Drinking, Vampire Anakin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-28 16:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10139819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning/pseuds/I_Gave_You_Fair_Warning
Summary: Maul is back. He's sent a message to the Temple for Obi-Wan Kenobi, demanding he come and face him, or a world will burn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> And here we transition from stand-alones to our first story arc. It's going to be a 3 part arc.

 

 

“You said you wanted me to take a solo mission,” Obi-Wan argued.

Mace Windu narrowed his eyes. “I'm sure this is _not_ what Master Yoda had in mind.”

“This is _my_ business.” There was a feral edge to Kenobi's scowl.

One Mace thought he recognized.

They'd granted Obi-Wan his knighthood without trials because he'd killed a Sith.

And now that the Sith was revealed to  _not_ be dead...

Kenobi was feeling like his knighthood was held under false pretenses.

And if they sent someone else to  _help_ him take out Maul...

It would only reinforce the idea that he  _shouldn't_ be a knight after all. That he'd been living a lie all these years.

The pale man lifted his chin, trying to look confident, and succeeding only in looking younger than he had since he'd grown the beard.

He needed to defeat Maul, or he would forever doubt his position as a knight, as the Chosen One's former master, and as a member of the Council.

Yoda saw it too. He sighed. “Against my better judgment, agree with Obi-Wan, I do.”

“It's insanity,” Mace growled. “We wouldn't send  _any_ other Jedi to apprehend him  _alone._ Even  _you_ wouldn't go alone, Master.”

“So you say,” Obi-Wan said, the doubt loud in his eyes, “but I was alone when I defeated him before.”

Mace turned and left the room before he could say something that might make things even worse.

Though he wasn't sure  _how._

Kenobi clearly had decided  _this_ was the mountain he was willing to die on.

If he won, he justified his past existence.

If he lost...

At least he wouldn't return home a farce.

Windu didn't like it at  _all._ It made him want to go find Skywalker and sic him on his master—

But it was  _day._

And he had no doubt that Obi-Wan would be gone long before sunset.

 

* * *

 

“Defeating Maul, made you a  _master_ did not.”  
“No, but it made me a knight. You didn't test me to see if I was ready. And you hadn't thought I was ready just  _days_ before.”

“Raised a child and sent him into adulthood, you did. Mastery, that gives. Earned _that_ you have.”

“Not if I shouldn't have been a knight in the first place.” Obi-Wan kept his face a carefully blank mask.

He'd never thought himself worthy of trying to train Anakin.

_Who knows how much damage I may have inflicted?_

He'd never believed his best was good enough for someone like the boy he now loved more than life.

_At least, if I fall, he won't have to deal with the fact that his master was a coward. Cowardice would be to hide behind the help the others are trying to force me to take._

“Stand in your way, I will not.” Yoda sounded sorrowful. “Something you must overcome, this is.”

Something.

Not someone.

Obi-Wan bowed his thanks and headed for the hangar where he'd left his fighter.

 

* * *

 

“Where is Master Kenobi going?”

Yoda felt  _old_ as Ahsoka asked the question, only curiosity in her voice.

“He didn't even look at me when he passed me in the hall. Moving pretty fast.”

_Now_ she sounded amused.

“To confront himself, Obi-Wan has gone.”

Ahsoka snickered. “Wonder if he knows that he doesn't have to go anywhere to find himself. By definition. He could face himself if he just stood still. Might be easier in the long run.”

Yoda closed his eyes against the pain in his heart.

How he hoped Qui-Gon's apprentice would live long enough to discover that simple truth.

 

* * *

 

Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi was no longer a master.

Gone was the silver tongue, the hard-won prowess.

Here, he was a padawan again, fighting with a padawan's skill.

It took Maul and his brother no time at all to defeat him.

Even as he blacked out, Obi-Wan couldn't help but wonder what had  _happened._

The only conclusion he could come to was that he'd never been as good as he or anyone else thought.

It just took Maul to prove it.

 

* * *

 

Something felt wrong.

Ahsoka wasn't sure  _what,_ but  _something_ was definitely off.

She sat in front of Anakin's door, waiting for dusk to fall, wondering just  _what_ it was that had put her on edge.

It took her several minutes to realize she was toying with the stone she'd been given.

Her initial reaction of horror softened as she took a closer look at the rock, warm in her hand.

According to ancient lore, the stone had captured the light of a star.

_As if that doesn't sound far-fetched._

It looked ordinary enough to her. It didn't glow, wasn't particularly pretty or smooth—

_But if I'm still playing with it, Anakin's not going to wake up on time._

So she tucked the stone back in its box and shoved the box into a pouch on her belt.

She'd intended on leaving it behind, never looking at it again—

And then she'd seen Anakin attack Obi-Wan.

Seen the fear in her grand master's eyes.

_Felt_ his helplessness.

Felt her own.

_Maybe it's not a matter of faith,_ she mused.  _Maybe my keeping or rejecting the rock has nothing to do with believing in Anakin or betraying him. Maybe it has to do with respect._

You didn't treat a wild animal with anything less than care, even  _if_ you were certain it wouldn't harm you.

You didn't turn your back on an ocean.

You never left a fire unattended.

_By rejecting the stone, I'm not treating him with the respect he's due in his new form._

Maybe her Skyguy deserved that kind of recognition.

Her comlink chimed. She answered it to hear Mace Windu.

“Padawan Tano. Is Skywalker up yet? He's not answering his comm.”  
“There's still...” Ahsoka checked her chrono and compared it to her memorized sunset schedule. Today it would hit at precisely... “A minute, thirty seconds standard.”

“Fine. As soon as he's awake, get him to the Chancellor's office.”

“Something wrong?”

“Wouldn't say, but he seemed to think he needed to speak with your master immediately.”

“We won't keep him waiting,” Ahsoka promised.

_That,_ at least, was a promise she knew Anakin would actually allow her to keep.

And then she'd be on her own again, because Palpatine never wanted to see  _her_ when he called for her master, and she had no intention of waiting in the hallway outside until they were done.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan hid his despair with sharply barbed words aimed to tear down Maul's _own_ self-esteem.

The loss of hope had little to do with approaching death...

And everything to do with the knowledge that his entire adult life was a fraud.

Padawan Kenobi couldn't escape from Maul and his brother.

So Obi-Wan determined to retain his dignity, even if they stripped everything else from him. He wouldn't make any ridiculous runs for the door— he wouldn't try to negotiate his way out— he wouldn't resist what was coming.

All of those desperate actions would  _please_ Maul.

_I'm going to make killing me as unsatisfying as possible._

So he was going to maintain a careful indifference to his own fate, and a casual lack of any respect and fear  _whatsoever_ of this creature.

He felt the Force twist painfully around the half-burning warehouse. He could sense the dead Raydonians lying just outside.

They'd died long before he arrived on planet. He hadn't been able to protect any of them.

Not even the children.

There was one good thing about dying here—

No more innocents would die on his behalf.

_Ever_ again.

“Anything  _more_ to say?” Maul hissed, apparently not realizing that Obi-Wan's stores of defiance and rebellion were infinite.

If only he'd given Qui-Gon a chance to  _speak,_ he might have been warned about that.

“I like your new legs,” Obi-Wan smirked. “They make you look taller.”

And then he was gripped by his jaw, a lightsaber so close to his throat the skin bubbled as Maul growled. “I will make sure you stay awake long enough to feel every single cut. Your death will be beyond excruciating— you will  _suffer_ as  _I_ have suffered.”

Obi-Wan glared up into his bloodied eyes and knew it to be true.

 

* * *

 

“Don't worry, my dear boy. We will find out how to save you from this, no matter what it takes.”  
Anakin stared at him in confusion. “Excellency?”

“It is hideous what has been inflicted on you.”

To Anakin's stunned amazement, the Chancellor seemed to be having a hard time even _looking_ at him.

Anakin had been under the impression that his looks hadn't  _suffered_ from the change. If anything, he'd become  _more_ of a magnet than before.

The Chancellor cut off his puzzled musing. “We must act quickly, before Senator Amidala finds out.”

“Why—? What would the Senator do?” Anakin asked, his eyes widening. _Padmé already knows._

Sidious gave him a reassuring glance. “Nothing, since we _will solve this._ I'm sure we can do anything if we work together.”

“I appreciate it, Chancellor, but I'm not actually looking for a—”

“Of  _course._ I can only imagine how frustrating it must be for you to never see the sunlight—”

The confusion was worse now. “No. I  _don't_ miss the sun, actually.”

Palpatine seemed to freeze, staring at him in utter shock.

“I appreciate your concern,” Anakin said, taking control of the conversation, “But you might have been spared some of this discomfort if you'd asked me what it is that I want, rather than assuming.”

“Assuming you want to be  _healed_ of this dreadful disease?” He clearly didn't understand.

Anakin shook his head. “I'm happy with this. I don't want to go back, even if I could. And there's no indication that's possible.”

“But my  _dear boy,_ you have the potential for so much greatness— to become the greatest Jedi who ever lived. This weakens you. It cripples your power. You are completely  _helpless_ during the day, and if anyone could  _capture_ starlight to weaponize it—”

“I'm not alone,” Anakin explained. “The Jedi have my back.”

The Chancellor gave him an incredulous look. “Please listen to me, Anakin. I know you to be wise and thoughtful—”

_Why is he refusing to stand with me?_

Blood thirst didn't go against  _his_ personal code. Obi-Wan and the Council were willing to give Anakin a chance, even though he was a nightmare out of their deepest fears. But  _Palpatine_ couldn't accept Anakin's choice?

“I would have thought that my being happy would please you.” Anakin stood, a frown marring his forehead.

“Happiness is nothing compared to power,” Palpatine snapped.

Anakin shook his head. He only had one thing to say.

“Thank you for all you've done for me, but no.”

Thanks to his vampiric speed, he was out the door and gone before the Chancellor had a chance to say a word.

He didn't head back into the Temple, instead, shutting off his comlink, he worked his way up the outside of its architecture.

Finally, on top of the Council spire, he allowed himself to rest. Out of reach of the mortals crawling around below, he felt the wind in his hair and scowled.

He hadn't liked what he'd sensed in the man who'd been a mentor since his earliest days in the Republic. It had been almost...  _desperation._ And anger.

And  _ownership._

As if he had a right to demand something like this from Anakin.

_As if he has a right to demand I change who I am._

_He's less concerned about my health and sanity than he is with my power._

And  _that_ suggested...

_Is it possible he's more interested in_ using  _me than in me?_

Obi-Wan's worry had been for Anakin's well being, not his loss of  _usefulness._ Even the Council had been concerned about Anakin's mind over...  _this._

He didn't want to change back. They accepted it, and tried to help him be the best vampire he could be.

_Palpatine refuses to take a no._

Anakin wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the warmth of the evening.

_Is he even a friend? Why didn't he ask if I was alright? Why didn't he care what I wanted?_

He buried his chin in his forearm and thought.

 

* * *

 

Hours later, something made his guts twist.  _Something is wrong._

It was  _loud._ Insistent.

Something he'd missed because he'd been too focused on Palpatine. Only now was it screaming shrilly enough to catch his attention.

_Something is wrong with Obi-Wan._

His fangs ached, his brain seemed to boil in his skull.

This wasn't a  _bad feeling._

It was a desperate  _terror._

Anakin launched himself from the pinnacle of the Temple, landing on one of the extended hangar platforms.

A blur in, and then a yellow starfighter was streaking for hyperspace.

_I'm coming, Obi-Wan._

_I promise._

Palpatine was just going to have to wait.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan, bound to a vertical frame to hold his arms high and splay his legs, simply focused on breathing.

It wasn't an easy task anymore.

Bruises, broken bones— and so  _many_ saber burns...

The smallest push against the cuffs that bound his feet sent electricity arcing through him, but his arms were worse. The spike driven through his wrists had to hold his weight.

His hands were above his head, and had been supporting his weight for too long. For each breath he had to either push against the ankle bindings, or pull at the spike.

Surely Maul knew enough about the human body to know that his prize would die of suffocation when he could no longer find the strength to pull himself up for a breath.

_How much longer—?_

He closed his eyes and allowed his head to hang. Blood made his lips taste like copper.

_I won't be home before Anakin falls asleep again._

Hopefully Anakin would allow someone else to feed him.

He laughed to himself, the mirth bitter in his mouth.  _I won't be going home at all._

A now-familiar clanking headed his way.

Gritting his teeth, Obi-Wan steeled himself against the dread—

“What is so amusing, Kenobi?”  
He blinked up into threatening golden eyes and smiled, his teeth blood-stained and his left eye nearly swollen shut.

“I'm just wondering why it took you  _twelve years_ to work up the courage to face a scrawny padawan agai—”

 

* * *

 

Anakin heard a familiar scream. Fury flooded his system, primal and vicious.

_His_ blood source.

His alone.

Something shifted deep in the warehouse, and whoever thought to  _steal_ his  _blood source_ tore off to find out what.

Anakin didn't care about  _any_ of it.

The only thing that mattered was retaking what was  _his._

He dropped from the warehouse's rafters, a silent, pale shadow.

“Anakin,” the blood source breathed. It made his throat pulse.

Blood was everywhere. The scent of burned flesh. The blood source was bound, his throat bare—

He was  _afraid._ In pain.

And the despair that hadn't yet fled—

Anakin buried his teeth deep, possessing, stunned by the flavor  _failure_ and  _despair_ lent. His eyes rolled up in his head as he pressed into Obi-Wan's body, holding the broken one close— savoring his pain, his whispered protest.

His utter helplessness.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan had known he would die here.

He just hadn't thought Anakin would be the killer.

He remonstrated. Once.

After that...

He knew it was pointless, so he simply waited. Either Maul would return and force Anakin into a battle, or—

Over the vampire's shoulder Obi-Wan caught sight of a familiar face.

Strange.

He was dying and he hallucinated about Ventress?

_Really?_

He would have preferred Satine. Maybe even Qui-Gon.

And then the hallucination struck Anakin in the side of the head with a lightsaber hilt. “That's enough, idiot. You trying to kill him?”

Anakin's fangs yanked free from Obi-Wan's neck, he spun around, a feral snarl in his throat, teeth stained crimson.

Obi-Wan blinked, but the former Sith apprentice didn't fade away. “Ventress?”  
“Looks like I'm here to rescue you.” She eyed the glaring Anakin. “As long as  _he_ doesn't kill me and come back to finish you.”

“Frip you,” Anakin muttered, his voice unsteady and his hand reaching up to swipe at his chin.

The hand started to shake.

“ _Well_ ? Are you going to help me take him down, or are you going to kill him?”

The noise that escaped Anakin's throat was something just shy of a whimper. He took a step in Obi-Wan's direction, then hesitated with an almost dance-like movement, fear widening his eyes.

_He doesn't trust himself near me._

Obi-Wan watched Anakin clap a hand over his nose and mouth, as if that could help ward off the scent of  _food_ as he really  _looked_ at his friend for the first time since entering _—_

He heaved.

Doubling over, blood spilled from his lips to wash the duracrete floor. But it wasn't enough. Anakin gagged, an uncontrollable reflex as his body demanded he find something  _more_ to purge—

Ventress shook her head, lit her saber to free Obi-Wan—

“A witch and a vampire.”

“Cut me  _down,_ ” Obi-Wan hissed, knowing it would be complicated, but—

“Here for our taking,” Maul whispered.

Anakin leaped for Qui-Gon's murderer. In mid-air he froze, his body falling and scraping white lines across the floor as he hit.

A holocron lay open on the floor, vicious light spilling from it.

Panic seized Obi-Wan.

Ventress fought for her life, terribly outmatched when both brothers had their attention on her.

Anakin lay twisted, the light stripping him of his very  _self—_

_No._

In this moment, Obi-Wan forgot he was supposed to be a padawan.

His child was being irreparably injured.

He gathered as much of the Force as his pain-distracted mind could focus, and drove it into the ankle cuffs as he wrenched his legs.

The electricity canceled out the agony from his wrists.

It took a long moment before he could focus enough Force to try again.

_Again_ he kicked out.

This time, when the blue fire left him, he realized his feet were free. He braced them against the frame and used what upper body strength he had left to push against the spike, sliding along it.

For a long moment he hung still, trying desperately to not fall unconscious— to succumb was to let Anakin suffer permanent damage, he had to get to the holocron—

With one last desperate effort, he freed his hands from the metal.

His feet didn't hold him. He hit the ground like a fish, and when he tried to push against, it, discovered he couldn't move his legs.

He had no time to worry if the paralysis was permanent or not—  _Anakin_ was helpless— he would have had a better chance of defending himself if he'd been returned to babyhood.

Obi-Wan dragged himself across the floor with his arms, but they felt so weak—

And then he found himself scooped up and heaved over a thin shoulder, stolen from his objective, from—

He tried to hit Ventress, but he couldn't make a fist, and his fingers simply brushed against her back. “Don't you  _dare, Ventress!_ ”

He screamed for the holocron, sending every ounce of his willpower into the call—

Green hands gripped it, huge feet dug into the duracrete, desperately trying to deny the demand—

Obi-Wan might be small, broken, and weakened—

But Savage was losing the contest.

“ _Brother—!_ The starlight!”

Maul broke off his pursuit of Ventress to catch the holocron as it was torn from Savage's hands, taking fingernails with it.

And then a hatch closed and Obi-Wan could no longer see—

Concentration broken, he struck out, horrified, his flailing hand connecting with her head—

Stiffened fingers jabbed into to his side, hitting one of his wounds. Agony overrode his struggle, driving him under to a place where consciousness slipped from his grasp and he fell still in Ventress' arms.

 

* * *

 

The fool could at least be grateful she'd taken the effort and risk to save his sorry hide.

_I could easily have left you_ both  _there to die._

She couldn't help but be mildly grateful he'd tried to attack the zabrak duo  _first._

Much as she liked to  _talk,_ she knew that she and Obi-Wan had evenly matched dueling skills.

If  _this_ had been the outcome of Kenobi's fight...

_It wouldn't have gone any better for me._

Maybe that's why she'd salvaged the broken body flopping around on the floor. He'd sprung the trap, allowing her to walk free.

Ventress set course for the nearest neutral planet, knowing better than to head into Republic space, even if she  _was_ saving one of their most precious generals' life.

Her ship slipped into hyperspace, taking them far from Raydonia.

Ventress stood up and had a solid look at the living corpse.  _Kark, Kenobi._

It was a sobering warning.

He stirred, raised murky blue eyes to the viewports, saw hyperspace—

“What have you done to me?” he wailed. “You lost Anakin— take me  _back_ !”

Ventress's face scrunched up as she watched Kenobi completely lose his kark.

“Take me back! Trade me for him—  _please—_ it's  _me_ Maul wants—”

Seeing her unmoved, almost disgusted expression, he reached out a bloodied hand for her. “ _Please,_ ” he whimpered.

“We're not friends, Kenobi,” she growled, rather horrified, to be perfectly honest. He was completely creeping her out, despite her vast experience with  _really_ disturbing things.

He nodded, a frantic, terrified movement. “So you have no interest in keeping me alive.  _Please,_ Ventress— do you know what they're  _doing_ to him— what happens  _every second_ he's under that light—?”

Ventress was beginning to wish she hadn't grabbed him. She hated the knots of— hell,  _no,_ please,  _no—_

Compassion.

She moved forward with an aggressive intention to knock him out again.

He saw it, raising his hands in a desperate plea. “No, no, no! Wait, wait—  _wait._ Wait. Surely there's something you want. What do you want? Just please, take me back and trade me for him. Save him.” For a long moment he was silent, brokenhearted eyes staring up into her own. “Please.” His voice fell apart, breaking high as tears slipped from his eyes.

Horror seized Ventress and she lightly kicked his broken ribs.

He went under again, to her vast relief.

“Kark, kark,  _kark_ ,” she cursed, dropping into the pilot's chair.

She'd spent two months of frustration and imagination trying to make him weep and beg for mercy, simply so she could have the pleasure of denying him.

She'd failed.

Now she  _had_ it.

The complete loss of any care for his own dignity. He was emotionally at her mercy in a way that she'd decided after Jabiim that he never _could_ reach. To lose it that badly would be to deny his very self.

So why, having proven her worst fear  _wrong_ , wasn't she enjoying this more?

While she had absolutely  _no_ urge to actually  _grant_ his crazy wish, she felt anything  _but_ exulting.

She just wanted to be rid of him, find a cantina on the other side of the universe, and drink until she forgot the keen of his anguish-driven voice.

When her ship touched down, Ventress gathered the broken Jedi in her arms and hauled his ass out of her ship and into a nice, pretty park for perfect little families. She dumped him on a bench, saw the planetary leadership moving to intercept, and beat a hasty retreat.

Not her problem anymore.

Nope.

Definitely not.

_Force_ she wanted that drink.

 

* * *

 

The terse message from the bounty hunter's ship had been a simple  _Injured Jedi._

And now Satine stood looking down at  _this_ Jedi.

In a heartbeat she knelt beside him, slipping a tiny, bone-hilted knife from her garter. And then she was cutting his robes free, tearing strips from her massive dress—

Her guards fanned out to hold back curiosity seekers and freaking out citizens alike.

None of it mattered.

“I'll call a meddroid!” a panicky voice called out.

She ignored the courtier— he was meaningless.

She gathered the flowers from her hair, crushing them and laying them against the worst of the bleeding.

She tipped her head to drop the headdress to the grass and pulled the long pins from her hair. She bound the worst of the wounds, using the pins to hold tourniquets in place.

She brushed a strand of hair back from her face, leaving a damp hint of blood in its wake.

It had been years since she last had her hands drenched in this man's blood.

 

* * *

 

Obi-Wan's eyelids felt like lead.

And when he opened them, only the vaguest shapes greeted him.

There was a scent as familiar as his own name—

Skilled fingers—

He squinted, thought he saw Satine toiling over his broken body.

_What?_

It made no sense, had to be some antic of his fevered brain—

He hoped to  _hell_ it wasn't Ventress. That would be a disappointment too great to be borne.

 

_* * *_

 

Satine felt the shaking begin in his limbs, the glaze of shock in the beloved eyes.

She slipped her spiked shoes off, flipping one over and breaking the heel away. She shook the powder out of the opened hollow and into her palm.

Placing her hand over his nose and mouth, she refused to let go as he feebly thrashed his head.

Within seconds he was under again, and would be for quite some time.

Something caught her attention, and she reached for his neck.

_Osik._

Satine drew in a careful breath through her nose as she realized what the teeth marks had to be.

_Later. We'll deal with it later._

Sitting back on her heels, Satine surveyed her work. It would hold until he could be better examined, and he would be pain-free until then.

But there was no point in sitting here idle when there was more she could do while they waited.

She signaled one of her guards, and the man moved to hold her foolish Jedi.

Satine eyed the wrong line of his leg, probed her fingers against his thigh, nodded to herself as she felt the shift within. Seizing his ankle, she sent a glance to her guard, who maneuvered to support her endeavor.

It wasn't the first time they'd tried this stunt.

Just... not on  _this_ man.

Satine set the leg, tore the boning out of her headdress, then bound the stiff length to the injury to hold the break in place.

There was just barely enough fabric to hold it.

_Next dress gets an extra flounce._

Another yard of fabric would have done the trick.

“Get me a medical stretcher,” Satine directed, voice quiet as she looked down into the bloodless face of her love.

When it was produced, Satine and her guard moved him from the bench onto the hoverbed, careful to not disturb his injuries too badly.

They were halfway back to the palace when the meddroid showed up.

“Take him to my room,” Satine directed her guards, voice low. “Be discrete. Make it seem like he's in one of the guest rooms. I want two of you there at all times, and simulate bustling in and out.”

“Of course,” was the reply.

It didn't take long to have him settled on her bed.

Satine's handmaid brought in a tray of better medical instruments, and the nearly-disrobed duchess and the droid consulted as they carefully cut away the dress wrappings and cleaned the wounds.

 

* * *

 

Silence.

It was the first thing Obi-Wan became aware of.

And then a ceiling. The pattern looked familiar.

That made very little sense.

“Who is it?”

Obi-Wan squinted, trying to make  _any_ of it resolve in his mind—

“The life-drinker.”

_Satine?_

And then memory returned. Ventress hauling him away from— “ _Anakin_ !” He tried to sit up, only to find himself restrained by padded straps. “Let me  _go,_ Satine—”

“Why?”

He could see her now, sitting in a chair in the corner, looking out the window.

“Because Anakin is in  _danger,_ he's being  _harmed—_ ”

“You trained him. Normally  _he's_ the one rescuing  _you._ He can wait.”  
Alarm surged through Obi-Wan and he tried to release the catches with the Force— it didn't work—

Satine threw him a casual glance, but he saw the danger that lurked behind her eyes.

He ceased his struggles. If there was one thing he'd learned from recent living with a predator, it was that  _running away_ only encouraged the forsaking of rational thought.

He didn't need her to see a Jedi, helpless at the hands of a Mandalorian.

He needed her to see  _him._

“Satine,” he said, as reasonably as he could, holding very still, “Anakin is suffering perhaps irreparable damage. Please let me contact the Jedi Council.”

“No.”

_No?_ “What are you doing?”

“I want to know why you think it's permissible to come here, mangled from your war, and take advantage of me like this.”

“Like  _what_ ?”

“You know I would never turn you away,” Satine hissed, rising from the chair. He  _knew_ the look on her face. The one she gave an enemy before utterly destroying them. Dread filled him. She wouldn't hurt him physically, but his soul was terribly defenseless where it brushed against hers.

She'd already left so many wounds there—

“You  _know_ I will never turn you away. You go out there, engage in a war that defiles the very  _essence_ of what it means to be a Jedi, you trample on what we have, and you run here to take refuge. Mandalore is where one of the most famous Republic generals in the war has turned for help. Is it not enough to destroy yourself and what  _we_ have, must you destroy my people too?”

“It wasn't  _my_ idea to—”

“Do you think the Separatists will  _care?_ And once they aggress against Mandalore, then the Republic will intervene. My people are asleep. If the sound of the drums comes too close, it will  _wake them up._ ”

With the light of the dying sun blazing in the window behind her, Satine looked like she was a creature of vengeance wreathed in flame.

“I am sorry. I was unconscious when my pilot put in the course—”

“ _Yes,_ ” Satine hissed, moving to the end of the bed. Obi-Wan had to crane his neck up to see her. 

Either that... or lose track of her.

According to his pounding pulse, that second wasn't an option.

“Asajj Ventress. Traitor to the Separatist cause. A woman who for two months tried to break you.” Disgust crossed Satine's face. “Her work was that of an amateur.”

“Oh?” Obi-Wan growled, remembering  _agony—_

“She had two months and no oversight from her superiors, and no one searching for you. Too arrogant to learn how to do it well, too undisciplined to do it right.”

“Is this about Anakin? Has he injured you in some way so you are unwilling to let me save him?” Obi-Wan snapped. “He's  _dying_ . Let me  _go—_ ”

He was too weak. His neck muscles could no longer hold his head, so it fell back against the pillow.

And that put Satine out of sight.

Obi-Wan grit his teeth against the instinctive fear prey always feel in the presence of their  _one._

“My sister never had the patience to learn the art form. Her style matches your Ventress' well.”

“ _My_ Ventress?”

“Because they gain information from most prisoners, they feel accomplished. But neither of them understand what it is to break an individual.”

“You know wounds,” Obi-Wan sighed. “You know I didn't get these in a battle. Please, can we just cut to the chase—”

“This work was not made by Ventress. This individual has more imagination, but as great a lack of understanding.”

“ _Satine—_ I can't figure out what your point is. Are you angry I'm a general, or is this about Jabiim, and I  _caught_ the  _your Ventress_ bit—”

“Two months. Every wonder how far back I could have stripped your mind, if Ventress had done the wise thing, and hired an artist?”

“Says the woman who has me tied up so I can't go and rescue my  _padawan,_ because it might be  _violent._ ”

_Six months. It would take her six months to completely remake me._

Satine had a gift, and long ago she had revealed her skill.

Obi-Wan had known, the instant he woke up in Ventress' castle, and again, in Maul's warehouse that neither of the dark siders knew the secrets Satine did.

His pain was too enjoyable for them. They wanted to  _punish_ him.

They weren't detached enough to succeed with someone as stubborn as Obi-Wan Kenobi.

“The creature that left the wounds on your neck.”

Obi-Wan snapped his mouth shut.  _This is what this is about._

“The wounds range from immediate to very old. They are unconnected to the torture.”

_Don't make this something, Satine. Back away. Please._

Every Mandalorian legend played through his mind.

“You refuse to let me stand so close,” Satine's voice drifted to him. He could hear her moving. He grit his teeth. “So the one who feeds from you is not someone you could think of in a sexual light.”

_Stop. Just stop._

“Someone you see as family. Ahsoka or Anakin.”

_Here we go._

“The height and angle are wrong for Ahsoka.”

Obi-Wan closed his eyes and shook his head.

“Curious, isn't it, that one set of fang marks is younger than some of this current torture, but older than the damage you inflicted on yourself— the tearing in your wrists? Did you think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I'd  _forgotten_ how to read wounds, because I no longer inflict them? You were being tortured, the life-drinker came, and instead of releasing you he fed on you... and you released yourself.”

Anything he said would make it worse, so he lay still, impatiently waiting for the moment when he could return to Anakin—

“Have you forgotten  _everything_ you learned here?”

_Now_ Obi-Wan had to speak up. “The legends of Mandalore in this case are  _just_ legends. They're not all-knowing, Satine. This one is different.”

“Just like killing  _sometimes_ is permissible, if it's more convenient than finding a peaceful solution?”

“We're not  _talking_ about the war at the moment—”

“ _I_ am. You  _kill_ for a living, now, breaking  _all_ your oaths to  _your own Order—_ ”

“We've  _had this fight before,_ Satine—”

“And our son has turned into a monster.”

“He is  _not_ a monster,” Obi-Wan growled, testing the restraints to no avail. His gaze searched the room for something,  _anything_ sharp he could drag to him with the Force—

“You think I would leave something you could improvise with?” Satine sneered. “Just because the woman you've chosen  _now_ is hopelessly incompetent doesn't mean  _I_ have become so. She  _isn't me_ .”

“ _ Ventress  _ again?” Obi-Wan yelped. “She isn't  _ replacing  _ you, Satine—”

“Sure as  _ hell  _ not,  _ General  _ Kenobi, because  _ I  _ don't drop you off places to get patched up. I can  _ actually  _ do it  _ myself— _ ”

“You  _ hate me _ !” he nearly screamed. “How can you be jealous?”

“It's not jealousy,” she growled, “it's  _insult._ If it was a woman of violence you wanted, why couldn't you at  _least_ have picked a competent one? Someone I could  _respect_ ?”

“Satine.” Obi-Wan tried to sound reasonable again, but he was beyond frustrated. “I did  _not_ walk away.  _You_ kicked me out.  _You_ sent me away. You have no say in  _any_ of this. Not for  _my_ padawan, or  _anyone_ I choose to associate with. I'm  _sorry_ she brought me here, it was a  _very_ unfortunate accident, and it will  _not_ happen again, I can assure you. In fact, the sooner you untie me, the sooner you can be rid of such an odious stain on your planet.”

Her response was quick and sharp. “Let you return to the man who abuses you. The one who has bewitched you. He's a serpent who has charmed you with his eyes. Why do you think I bound you? You no longer have freedom of will. You will return to him again and again, obeying, serving,  _bleeding_ for him and  _glad to do so._ Do you want to know  _exactly_ how many of the old scars on your throat and wrists show  _any_ signs of a struggle?”

“I think you'll find it's  _my_ choice and  _my_ life. If I choose to throw it away, if anything, it should  _relieve_ you. Those who live by violence die by it, isn't that your warning? The endless cycle of aggression?”

Silence.

Deep, still.

Obi-Wan tried to make sense of her emotions, but she'd retreated into full Mandalorian-blocking-Jedi mode.

He had no idea what she was feeling.

“You think I would be pleased with your death?” she asked at length, voice quiet.

Tears stung his eyes, and sweet  _Force_ he was  _not_ going to let them fall. “It would certainly relieve you of the frustration of living in a universe wherein I continuously fail your standards,” he remarked, hearing the bitterness in his own words. “You could spit on my corpse, walk away, and never have to hear another disappointing report from your spies regarding me. Now, if you would be so kind as to let me  _go,_ Duchess Satine, I will get right on that and refrain from informing the Senate that the official leader of Mandalore held a Jedi against his will, causing them to lose their darling protector, the Chancellor's personal favorite.”  
In an instant, he was released.

Off the bed and on his feet, staring Satine in the eye, eternally grateful she wasn't one of the countless people  _taller_ than him, Obi-Wan sneered. “Look at that. A peaceful solution to your problem. May I have my lightsaber back? Or have you stolen that from me too?”

Hate whispered in her eyes and her chin came up.

But she handed the cold cylinder to him.

“Always a pleasure to do business with a friend,” he said, his posture courtly, defying the aggression all through his cold expression and tone.

She leaned forward, narrowed her eyes, and hissed, “You are no friend of mine.”

And suddenly the anger wasn't enough to hide his heartbreak. “Good to know,” he muttered, scowling, pushing past her to get to the door, moving at just shy of a jog.

He had to get  _out_ of here and to the spaceport where he could catch a ride. Or contact Coruscant for a ship. And a detachment of clones. And Ahsoka. He commed her on his path, refusing to explain until she arrived.

He'd cut off the connection while she was still flooding his ears with questions, the only one that mattered including the statement that he and Anakin had been missing for  _forty-eight hours._

He'd been unconscious too long.

He reached the outside of Sundari before the pain caught up. A vacant landing pad on the edge of the bubble, open to the vast, broken landscape.

There he sank to his knees to wait, wrists throbbing, legs aching—

Soul with third degree burns, mirroring the wasteland of Mandalore's surface.

He lowered his head, closed his eyes, and forced his face into a serene mask.

Anyone in the distance who might catch sight of him would think him meditating.

And with that facade in place, he lost it.

It hurt.

So.

Fripping.

Much.

_Get me off this hell,_ he silently urged Ahsoka, knowing to his core he would  _never_ step foot on Mandalore again if he had  _any_ say in his own destiny  _whatsoever._

 

* * *

 

Satine stood cold and merciless, watching the monitor with predatory eyes.

She didn't dare look away until she knew this man was  _out_ of her airspace.

Knowing him, he might just take a side-mission and frip things up  _worse_ than he already had.

If he wandered off, she needed to be able to intercept.

She watched silent tears escape his eyes.

She'd seen this before— the calm posture, the pain free expression.

This was Obi-Wan Kenobi weeping in utter agony.

The way he had when he'd called her to tell her Qui-Gon had died.

Only this time...

No one was dead.

She stood, posture correct and still, the usual observers who would inhabit this room waiting by the door, watching her back with curiosity and maybe a little fear.

She didn't move, simply staring at the broken Jedi.

So hurt by what  _she_ had done to  _him._

As if  _he_ hadn't betrayed  _her._

Frip, she  _missed_ him. The thought of him kissing that _amateur's_ hand hurt like hell, and she knew he wasn't coming back.

_I knew that before._

Back at the beginning of the war, when they'd  _first_ had this fight.

_Things have only gotten worse since then._

The chasm between them too wide to be bridged.

They were both too injured.

_And Anakin will kill him._

She'd never even met Obi-Wan's padawan, and now the boy had been murdered, his body stolen to belong to something that would destroy everyone Anakin Skywalker had ever loved.

_And I will never meet Ahsoka._

She only knew of the grandchild because of her spies.

Obi-Wan hadn't even told her.

Yes, they'd been estranged, but—

Then again, she'd thought he'd died on Jabiim, and only found out otherwise when the news reports hit.

He hadn't contacted her then, either.

_I was a fool to think he'd changed,_ she told herself, reaching for hatred to soothe the pain.  _A year and a half into a war that's draining the galaxy's soul, of course he's too proud to admit he's wrong._

Silent tears gathered along her lashes as her breathing remained even—

And her heart broke  _again._

And again.

And again.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You clever readers may be poised to ask me about the timeline. In this AU, the events of Voyage of Temptation have not yet happened, though Revenge is here in full swing. Obi-Wan hasn't seen Satine since their big fight at the beginning of the war, and he hasn't been sent to Mandalore to check up on rumors of Separatist collusion.


End file.
